Numb
by tiff098765
Summary: A look inside Kate's head. Rated M for language and angsty grown-up emotional stuff that younger readers just wouldn't get.
1. Summer at the cabin

Numb

x

I feel too much. It's weird, because there are some spots where I can't feel anything. I run my fingers over the scars, and it's like touching my foot when it's asleep: I can tell there's pressure and a slight tingly sensation, but I can't actually feel the touch on the skin. But the pain is still unbearable. The stab in my heart (sometimes it's a squeeze), the tightness in my belly, the way my whole chest constricts like I'm drowning.

I cry until I can't feel any of it anymore, then I just lay there, curled in a ball, and hope no one ever finds out how broken I am. I'm supposed to be strong, not lash out, not give in. I'm supposed to be the rock in this partnership. I'm supposed to keep everything real and focused on the right track. But I can't.

The only way I know how to pull myself out of the pain is to be numb. I've done it before. I can do it again. Pretending it's bearable, compared to the tortured existences of other people, is the only way I can gulp some air back into my lungs, hoping to re-inflate them enough to make people think I'm okay. Or at least that I'm getting better.

Last time it took years of pushing the pain away before I was able to walk around without it coloring my every thought. But I did it, and then I found that I didn't have raw, gaping wounds anymore. Just scars.

It took a few more years before I was able to see just how much that world of hurt affected me. How many of my life choices - big and small - were painted a darker shade by my own memories.

It frustrates me to no end to imagine the brighter hues that could have been used in the picture I see of my life. Did you know I love art? In an oil painting, the colors underneath tint every layer of paint above it. Start something with a bright base layer, and the end product is cheery. Begin with darkness, and - even if you end with the exact same colors in your final layer as the bright painting - your end product will have darker darks and deeper shadows. God, that's how I see my life unfolding. I'm sick of the dark.

And what if everything from here on out is good? Blessings heaped upon blessings? It will all still be tainted by the darkness underneath, hidden by the scars.

Why can't my heart feel like my skin? I can put on a shirt and the scars are gone. I can't feel the spots where scalpel and stitches were. But the new wounds, the ones the doctors can't see, are still festering, crying out to be held back together. Gently, tenderly. But no one's trying to do that. Maybe because they can't see how much I'm hurting. Or maybe they're too scared to try to do anything about it. 'Leave her alone, and she'll eventually get better. She always does.' Right.

Love shouldn't hurt like this. Life shouldn't hurt like this.

I just want to be numb.


	2. Kill shot

Time is all I need, right? Just try to breathe without crying; try to cope without falling apart. I seem to be doing better, right? Everyone around me thinks I am.

I've been taking just a day at a time. It was working. I was beginning to not flinch when touched. I was beginning to smile again. I was beginning to laugh.

So, how could one tiny thing take it all away? It only took a few little words to put me back at square one. But I didn't let it show. There were people around. I couldn't let myself fall apart in front of them. They didn't buy it though; I could tell by the little stolen looks at each other that they were agreeing that something was wrong with me.

Excuses. I'm good at those. I'm fine, really. My chest just hurts sometimes. I'll be fine.

Until I can't handle it anymore and find a hiding spot so I can cry. God, I hate being a girl sometimes. If I was a guy, I'd go beat the heavy bag for a while to get it all out. Who am I kidding, I'll probably do that, too. But for now, I'm a snotty, sobbing mess, even though I don't want to be, but I can't stop myself.

I'm hot and I've got to get some of these layers off so I can breathe.

And when I get my control back, I'll put my jacket on, as well as my Superwoman mask, and go back out there where people are.

Ugh. People. I don't want to be around people... can I have a do-over on today? Yesterday was so much better.


	3. With Josh

**Sorry, these aren't in chronological order.**

* * *

><p>"Mmm, baby, you feel so good."<p>

How? How can he say that? Am I that good at faking, or is he that oblivious? Or does he notice I'm not into it and just doesn't care?

No, he doesn't seem to notice. He thinks I'm as into it as he is.

This was... supposed to take the edge off... ease the tension. If we didn't fuck tonight, we were going to fight. Again.

And I don't have the energy or heart for a fight.

Maybe I can try harder. This really should feel good. I used to think this felt good, with him. His muscles on his neck, shoulders and chest really do look amazing in the glow of the alarm clock. Maybe I can get my head into this.

_Ow_ - damn- why's he got to be rough? Why can't he feel me cringe every time he does that? Maybe I should fake it and just get it over with.

"Mmm, yeah, like that. That's good." That kind of sounded flat; I'll try again in a minute. But I don't think he noticed anyway.

I wouldn't be faking if he was...

Don't say his name. And don't say the wrong name. Don't say the name of the one I'm really thinking about.

The one who looks at me like I'm... extraordinary... and tells me he thinks that. The one who laughs at my dumb jokes and grins when he says I'm a badass. The one who doesn't shy away from letting me see him checking me out, even though I'm not his. The one who enjoys talking with me for hours, about anything or nothing.

"Oh, shit, that _does_ feel good," but it shouldn't because it's wrong on so many levels to be enjoying this because I'm thinking of the man with whom I'm supposed to have a work-only relationship, but

"Oohh, fuck, keep doing that," but I can't look at his face because it's not the one I want to see and

"H-h-h aahh shit shit shit" damn that feels good and don't say the wrong name and god I've got to end this soon because this is so fucked up but I don't know if I have the strength to do any better and

"Aahhh... mmm... ... that was good." Dear God, I'm ready for this to be over. He didn't even notice the tears when I came.


End file.
